


Corey Taylor: Bourbon in the Bayou

by skysonfire



Series: Corey Taylor [5]
Category: Slipknot (Band), Stone Sour
Genre: Corey Todd Taylor, Devilish Midweek Divulgence, F/M, One Shot Collection, Smut with a Story, www.devilish-midweek-divulgence.tumblr.com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the Devilish Midweek Divulgence "hump day" blog (www.devilish-midweek-divulgence.tumblr.com), this piece features Corey Taylor. Photo edits associated with this piece can be found on the Tumblr blog site. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Corey Taylor: Bourbon in the Bayou

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Devilish Midweek Divulgence "hump day" blog (www.devilish-midweek-divulgence.tumblr.com), this piece features Corey Taylor. Photo edits associated with this piece can be found on the Tumblr blog site. Enjoy!

It was hot. The kind of bastard sticky hot that makes everything feel like it’s covered in some sort of anxious sweat. The moon cowered behind the temperature’s angry haze, and the stars were completely disguised – waiting patiently for a cool break to return to the sky. Normally, I would absolutely hate this shit weather, but tonight I didn’t care if the whole of the bayou knew that he was mine.

I looked out the long windows into the courtyard where I saw him relaxing back in one of the wrought iron patio chairs. He had pulled it over to a quiet spot in the back of the yard near a stone wall weeping with a bubbling fountain and teeming with moss. I could see the smoke from his cigarette fighting with the heavy air and I wondered how on earth he wasn’t drowning in the volatile marriage of nicotine and humidity.

Tearing my eyes from his porcelain profile, I fiddled with the generous bottle of bourbon that I had bribed from the bar. The cap released, its woody scent hit me like a surprising insult and I added a generous amount to the shaker, already swimming with fresh lemon, orange juice and simple syrup. I fished out an ample amount of ice from its bucket and dared the ingredients together. As I made to retrieve the tumblers, I noticed that a bit of the mixture had coated my thumb. I brought my finger to my mouth. The flavor was exactly what I had expected — fruity and citrus in the front, sour and sweet in the back. 

My heart leapt with childish excitement, and after garnishing the glasses, I slipped my panties down over my ankles and padded out into the courtyard, outfitted in a simple dress and armed with libations melting desirously in my hands.

The black fedora he wore blocked his periphery, so I toyed with him as I advanced. “Oh, my God,” I breathed with the best southern accent I could muster. “Are you really Corey Taylor from Stone Sour?”

He turned to me wearing a boyish smile, and I watched his eyes hit my face, my hands, my breasts and my hips.

“What’s in it for me if I am?” He asked, standing to face me. I responded simply by reaching out my arm and handing him one of the slick tumblers.

“Maybe something else, too,” I said, with suggestion.

He stalked me then, leading me against the wall next to the fountain. Leaning his one hand against the stones above my shoulder, he bent forward and demanded my lips open with his mouth. As I returned the passion of his kiss, he moved his hand to work the hem of my dress up my leg. The perspiration of my glass hit my thigh and I shook with anticipation. I could feel him smile against my mouth when his fingertips realized the exposure of my flesh under my dress.

“I see,” he said quietly, taking a sip from his glass. As soon as the flavor hit his tongue, his eyes sparkled with a laugh. “Bourbon stone sour,” he observed, sucking his lip as his fingers teased my opening. I pushed my hips forward, arching my back against the wall. “How clever,” he whispered, as he pushed inside. The feeling was exactly what I had expected — heady and hot in the front, and so, so sweet in the back.


End file.
